The Fallen and The Raised
by Shadowed Nightshade
Summary: When Castiel, the Righteous Man, went to Hell, he simply assumed that it was permanent. After being raised by one of his torturers, he seeks to stop the apocalypse, assisted by a motley band of supernatural creatures and his hunter brothers. Destiel reverse!verse
1. Prologue

A/N: First Supernatural fic, this was originally intended to be a short, fluffy one-shot that would toy with the concept of reverse!verse Dean being a demon. This did not happen, evidently, and there is as of yet no end in sight. I do not own Supernatural.

"Is it done yet?"

"Almost, unless something happens. Shame, really. I liked this one. Kind of wanted to see it go on a bit longer."

* * *

"No!" Castiel screams. "Not my brother, my brother, not him!"

Gabriel lies limp in his arms. Blood has long since stopped flowing from his throat and shoulder. The aghast hunter at Castiel's side stammers apologies, unknowns; "I- I was just hunting and he was there chanting and-"

Castiel ignores him, pressing Gabriel to his chest like it would tether his elder brother's soul to his body.

The hunter seems to sense that he is not wanted and so he leaves, quietly, scuttling off like a little cockroach. Castiel thinks venomous thoughts of destruction at the man, vainly hoping they would catch and follow him until some psychic beast or vengeful ghost chose to act on them.

But the fleeting though is gone and all that is left is his brother, bled out into the dank dust of the storeroom, swimming in his own blood over a ritual circle.

Castiel is alone.

* * *

There is a crossroads just outside, and it takes Castiel only a few minutes to scrape together what he needs and bury it, digging the hole by hand into the packed earth. By the time he is finished, his fingers are raw and a nail has broken and pierced the skin.

"Well." Says the sibilant female whisper he was waiting for.

"Give him _back,_" Castiel hisses, his raw throat hoarse from bellowing pleas and denials to the unsympathetic sky.

"I can. But-"

"Back. Alive, unchanged. Just _give him back._" He stares at the woman, long black gown, silver pins, darts along the waist. The clothes and hair change every time, but the colours remain the same.

She hesitates. "You _sure?_"

"Yes. Always." He stares at her, focusing in a way that has been called frightening, in the past.

"You can't try to renege," she prods. "Any sign of a deal breaker and _plop-_ he's rotting six feet under."

Castiel is lightheaded from rage and grief. Privately he knows James and Claire and Balthazar and Gabriel and _everyone_ will be angry beyond belief but he doesn't care. He can't lose Gabriel.

"Yes." He says instantly.

"You have ten days," the demoness says.

He nods, no longer trusting himself to speak. Because ten days, _ten days _with Gabriel will be like an eternity and _so much better_ than never again.

"Sign on the dotted line," she says, kissing him.

Never, Castiel thinks, will he kiss a woman again. Because he can taste sulphur edging her lips and just the faintest hint of smoke, in a way that will haunt his nightmares for years to come.

Then she is gone, and Castiel hears Gabriel's hoarse cries from the house, and no regrets will ever come to him.

* * *

Gabriel is, of course, angry. He rants and calls Bobby and Balthazar, but Castiel cannot find it within himself to regret the decision, even faced with the angry expressions of his friends.

"As I did that night, I would do a thousand times over," he tells Gabriel, and confusedly bears and embraces the lapful of teary-eyed older brother he receives after that. It is lucky, he thinks, that Gabriel is small and light.

When his ten days are up, Castiel goes with grace, a prayer, and a dignified seat at his desk.

He pretends to himself that Gabriel will not cry over his grave.


	2. Chapter 1

First chapter and, I believe, the bloodiest. Thought that may change; hopefully not. Perdido Street Station is a book by China Mieville.

**Chapter 1**

"This can't end well."

"Maybe. I said it wouldn't if something happened. Something's happening."

"But is it good?"

"Maybe."

* * *

Hell is as Hell is touted to be; and that is, of course, torturous. Fiery embraces, burning knives, acid, tearing, cutting, sewing, all of it painful in new and surprising ways.

The first five days his torturers wear the faces of his family, and Castiel cries out for mercy, begs absolution. This amuses them.

After his first five years they wear the faces again, but they no longer frighten Castiel. He lies there, content to be cut and mangled by the hands of his kin.

The first time Alastair takes a knife to him is a new experience. The sharp pain is somehow newly terrifying.

He is only ever allowed to look at the bloody sky after that; even as acid pelts down from it in a cruel mockery of rain, even as new and creative forms of torture are invented against his skin and in his guts. The punishment for looking is a slow dismemberment of each eye, fingers pressing into the socket around it to hold it steady as the muscles spasm.

Alastair's hands are agony the likes of which Castiel has never felt. Every touch is somehow painful, his crooning voice filth and maggots crawling into his mind through his ears, the gentle, mocking kisses to his temples and cheeks nauseating. Alastair clearly takes delight in the disgust and horror Castiel views him with.

Fifty years pass, and Castiel is afraid, anew, of Alastair's hands.

Today is different, though. Today, Alastair cuts him loose and allows him the brief freedom of five steps before sitting him down and offering him the hilt of his knife.

Castiel stares at it dumbly before asking its purpose.

"Torture for me," is Alastair's blasé reply. "Cut into some soul. For every hour you spend cutting, you'll spend two without cutting or being cut."

Castiel refuses.

He is immediately put back on the rack, today's torture made worse by the knowledge that he could have ended it.

The next day that process is repeated. Castiel refuses, Alastair's torture seems even worse than the day prior.

Forty days in and Castiel breaks. The knife is jagged and heavy in his hand, parting flesh and muscle with ease, taking little effort when sawing through bone.

He learns torture at Alastair's side, how to torture one of every race he could think of and even some he couldn't comprehend, their slippery figures grasped clumsily to cut into writhing fibres/nodules/tentacles/limbs.

It is five years after that until he meets _him._

Alastair gestures for him to follow, and Castiel joins him in his citadel of black marble, the floor searingly hot where it isn't drowned in blood and viscera.

The thing that approaches them isn't even remotely human.

Twisting antennae, forty black eyes, some on stalks, some sunken into the head; a furred, chitinous carapace with delicate hooked horns along the side and back; uncountable numbers of spiky black insectile legs. It is a beetle, a moth, a centipede; some kind of bug-monster that gives off a searing graceful wrongness that throws Castiel off. He has met demons that give an impression of horror, of hatred, but none with that all-encompassing feeling of _not-right_ that this thing brings, even with its vaguely human shape and the body beneath the carapace bleeding redly.

It has wings; massive, ruffled, green-and-black iridescent things that pulsate beneath the surface in the light. He thinks he sees feathers along the edges, but all of appearance is forgotten when _it_ speaks.

"Alastair, what does your master desire?" it is clicking, metallic, and so sheerly _bored_ that Castiel almost thinks it's human for a moment.

The legs shudder and rattle into a patterned twirl meant to communicate something, and Castiel remembers that it is about the farthest from human possible.

"Take Castiel here. Show him your style."

The thing shivers, twisting downwards, a few spiny legs flickering up to tap at Castiel's sides and face.

Something about its posture changes, and if Castiel didn't know better, he'd call it _worshipful._

"Get going!" Alastair hisses, clearly displeased.

They pick their way over the floor, the thing's legs moving in a way that is disconcertingly fluid. Nothing formerly human should be that comfortable in such a twisting mockery of the human form.

"I'm not," it says, and gone is the twang of metal chords along the throat. The voice is soft and deep and, in a word, divine. It is unfair that a demon would receive such a voice.

"I'm _not,_" It snaps aggressively. "I was never human, Cas. Don't make me one of them."

"Cas?" he asks, and then the rest registers. "What are you, then? A nature spirit? Witch's bitch, made from anger, blood, and sacrifice?"

"Christ, no." it says, and _no, it isn't a demon_ because all those around just recoiled away as if struck and Castiel feels a deep pain through his chest.

"Then-"

It groans. "Call me Dean." A pause. "Male, yes, I prefer that gender."

"What are you?"

"Does it matter?" Dean asks, irritated, stirring his folded, bunched wings. Castiel's eyes are drawn to them and

Well.

He felt the world become syrupy, blurring everything outside of

Those

Wings.

Green and black, swirling red and blue and beautiful beautiful Castiel can't look away, they were his _world_ and how can he want anything else how can he ever want to go away from Hell here were these beautiful wings

"Snap out of it." The clawed legs come up and twist his head away gently. "Careful there."

Once he can no longer see the wings, he collapses to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. "What was-"

"Oneirochromate." Dean says gently, antenna dancing about his head agitatedly. "Jesus, you went under fast. Normally I have to unfold my wings to get someone. You're just special, I guess. Man of faith?"

"Your wings, they're…"

"Hypnotic. Nice, huh? Don't look at them if you can help it."

Castiel nods rapidly, swallowing. "That's- there was a book I read. Uh,-"

"Perdido Street Station. The slake-moths were at least partially based off of me, I know. He probably dreamed about me." The wings rustled agitatedly just out of sight.

"You going to eat me?" only half-joking, really.

"No. Let's move."

He crawls over the ground, Castiel following at a safe distance and trying hard not to look at his wings.

* * *

Dean was watching the human.

The Righteous Man, _really?_ And Hell was keeping him.

When the Righteous Man- _Castiel,_ he reminded himself, no, _Cas,_ had seen him, Dean had felt almost ashamed of the bizarre form his Father had warped him into when he fell. For the first time it was true punishment. For the first time he was afraid of someone rejecting him from his appearance. He didn't want Castiel to see him in his disgrace, even though he knew Castiel wouldn't be able to bear the sight of what he once had been.

His antenna-cords twisted angrily. _Fuck you,_ he thought venomously in the direction of his Father.

_When did I get so many legs?_ He added quietly, privately. At first he had only been a man-shaped being, perhaps with some insectile eyes, two twisting feelers and a few flexible pincers, with his hypnotic wings (at that point soft and feathered with the power of His love and Dean's own divinity). Assigned to Lust by one of his brothers; no longer considered what he had been but… transformed.

He _knew_ the others looked down upon him. No one had received such a bizarre body but him. He alone had the deadly wings and his… abilities, his teeth and tongue and hunger.

He looked again at Castiel, admiring the soft curves of his faithful soul, skimming over the jagged cracks and infections through its shape.

He wanted to purge the infection, purge its rotten look from Castiel's soul for the first time since he had sung with his brothers, danced with the single being he had sworn to be faithful to forever.

Dean spread his wings and flew.

He could see waves of psychic pain and somnolency follow him; revelled in the worship as his unholy beauty held them spellbound. The worship of weaker creatures strengthened him and allowed him to breathe.

His claws tore open the ceiling of hell and allowed him into an in-between world. Before it was complete, he had mused to Joshua, asked him about its usefulness. Joshua hadn't deigned to answer, only smiled.

Now, watching the pain and fire consume those brothers, he understood.

Scratching sounds followed him, and he turned a single eye to watch Castiel rise over the rim of the bluff. His hands were torn and bleeding from the living stone, studded with frozen crystals.

"What…" Castiel breathed.

Dean watched his brothers flee after the unreachable, unmarked banner for what seemed like hours.

"Those angels who did not pick a side." Dean twisted a feeler out to get Castiel's attention then snapped it at one of the beings. "You probably cannot see them with clarity, but that one- there- yes. I knew him. Good person, for an angel like _that."_

Castiel blinked, puzzled. "Like what?"

"Choosing a side is better than being neutral." Dean replied easily, words he had learned by rote. _He_ said them often. "It shows selfishness, sin, belief in the self being higher than the cause." He let out a shaky breath- funny what stayed with you, even after two thousand years of being dead and… bug-like.

"Oh." Castiel said, his mouth opening a little.

Dean knew what lay just below the shell of Castiel's soul and how to reach it. He knew how to wipe out that infection and demonic being.

Castiel's stubby, infant wings twitched. Dean knew, privately, that Castiel didn't have much humanity left. Perhaps another ten years of torturing, and he would have full, glorious wings of leather and thorns, solid black eyes, silken shreds of a soul. He would be able to look at Dean's wings. _Perfect, beautiful,_ Dean knew Alastair would gloat.

Dean remembered that this was the Righteous Man, and there would be bitter irony in one of the Fallen seeking solace and friendship in him.

"Get back to work," Dean said, and took flight.

He heard Castiel gasp quietly behind him and was vindictively pleased that the human had seen his wings.

* * *

The Cage wasn't so impressive. The room that held the Gate was more impressive, if hidden by six hundred-odd seals.

"Bel," Dean said cheerfully, taking his vessel as he approached. "How're ya doing?"

Belial laughed from within the Cage. "Come to set me free, Dean you bastard?"

Dean sighed deeply. "Naaah, you'd go on a rampage and I'm not too eager to see the world destroyed. And idea where Sammy is?"

Belial groaned. "Bitching off in the corner somewhere. When'll ya take him away?"

Their easy banter was learned. Being the only of their kind comfortable in vessels and with the languages of earth was a bonding thing, even if Belial would happily destroy the world Dean enjoyed to the best of his ability.

Dean took a deep breath. "Bell."

Belial arched a fine black eyebrow. "Dee."

"The Righteous Man is in hell. He has shed blood."

Belial threw his head back and howled, a wild primal bellow that filled the chamber. "I know. I can _hear_ them," he hissed, mouth splitting open unnaturally, slaver falling and dribbling from his strange lips and teeth. "My _traitor _brothers."

Dean shuddered when Belial's eyes traced over him. "You're okay," Belial informed him soothingly. "You're fine, Dee, I _like _you. And your brother. You'll need to be punished, of course, for locking me in here and not letting me out. But remember, Dee, you're the only brother I have left that I still trust." His hands patted against the barrier of the bars, begging Dean to come closer.

Dean flinched back away and carefully edged off. "I don't know what to do, Bell. What if the halo crowd gets him?"

"Doesn't matter. Mikey will just go directly to find Sam, you know that." Dean flicked his eyes from side to side, seeking the familiar curled shape of Sam's in the corner.

"What's he like?" Belial asked after a moment.

"Who?" Dean asked.

"The Righteous Man, Dee. Mr Tall, Pure, and Gorgeous. What's he like?"

"A little shorter than this… vessel," Dean indicated about how tall. "Dark hair. Tan. Uh, blue eyes." He licked his lips. They felt dry, funny since his vessel was never supposed to change. "Grace-blue."

"Pretty." Belial leaned into the bars. "Be a dear and bring him to me? I want to see his soul ravaged. Wasted. Demonic."

Dean backed away slowly. "Sure, Bell. Gonna talk to Sammy first. Minute."

When he darted deeper into the Room, he had to admit to himself that he was lying when he said he wasn't running.

Sam was curled up in his true form in the corner of his cage. "Dean?" he mumbled. "Can you get Belial to leave me alone?"

Dean pressed his palms against the bar. "There's some stuff beyond even me, Sammy. You okay?"

Sam sniffed. "Aside from being alone and unclad, no, there's nothing wrong. I heard Belial screaming. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. He got excited 'cause the Righteous Man's here."

Sam's head snapped up, eyes blazing briefly orange with fire. "Who? Who is he?"

"Bell asked the same thing." Dean leaned his shoulder between the bars, pressing his Grace (polluted as it was) close to Sam's like they used to.

He felt Sam recoil, though, and tried hard not to be insulted and ashamed. His grace was painful to touch, he knew, and Sam was ashamed of his charcoal-boned wings. Between his shame and the pain he would suffer, Sam had no reason to try to sing together like they had once.

"I don't know if I want the angels to get him, Sam." Dean admitted. "I remember Michael and Bell and you when you were strong, and I don't think I can watch you tear each other apart again."

"I won't be much of a fight." Sam muttered. "No vessel, and add that to that I never wanted to be here in the first place and I won't touch Hell-"

Dean's skin crawled. "I'll protect you," he swore, and he knew he could. His cursed wings would work for him, even if it was in rending Castiel's soul into its component fragments so that Castiel wouldn't ever be able to stand again.

"You were a minor angel, and even as a Prince like you are, you're no match for Michael."

This struck Dean oddly, and he realised that though that was beyond him, something else wasn't.

"You know what I am, though?" Dean asked, the spark of a plan- a lunatic, furious, plan, but a plan nonetheless- taking hold.

"What?"

"A match for his vessel. Take out the vessel, and Mr Halo can't do shit."

Sam hammered against the bars as Dean left, taking wing immediately. He had things to do.


	3. Chapter 2

So this chapter, as I noticed as I edited, is a little bit odd. The reason for this is that I have a bit of difficulty with maintaining a single concrete voice when I write; consequently, this is my first story of more than 12,000 words. As such, there will be some difficulties. Just a tad bit of a warning.

**Chapter 2**

"So you're just throwing it away- all of it? The end?"

"There isn't an end anymore. I'm hands-off as of now. Well. Relatively hands-off."

* * *

"Dee." The nickname immediately called his attention, and when he glanced up he was startled to see Helena.

"Lanie, what are you doing here?"

"Wondering 'bout that Righteous man." Her eyes glinted and a single, torn hand ghosted over one folded wing.

Dean watched him lower the knife carefully into the gaping ribcage of a disobedient demon. Barely ten seconds later, the demon began to howl with agony.

Helena nodded approvingly. "He's getting good. Not as good as you, of course, Prince."

Dean spared a look to the side. "Don't, Lanie."

She shrugged.

A moment later, she asked; "So what are we going to do when the halo crowd gets in here?"

Day by day, the sounds of fierce battle and the cries of victory from both sides grew closer. The demon front was falling, and it wouldn't be long before the angels made it to Castiel.

Dean quietly ignored the anger he felt at the thought.

"They won't find him," he said without thinking.

All of her attention was immediately focused on him, with a curt "What are you going to do?"

He took a breath. "Cas isn't the type to listen just because they're angels. He'll question. But if they save him, he'll obey because he feels he has to."

Her eyes widened. "You're going to be the one who raises him?"

"Why the hell not?" Dean asked, trying for nonchalant. He had a feeling that he failed, but at least he made an attempt.

"But- _Dee,_ he's the Righteous Man. And you're not an angel, you can't save him and remake his body and-"

"Lanie, how did I get my vessel?"

"You made it."

"As I am now, I made it out of dust, ashes, and blood. I can make his body for him. And you've seen how I punish, I can… cure him." A deep breath. "He won't be saved, but he'll be human."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"Sam n' I are gonna take him out of here," Dean soldiered on. "You in, Lanie?"

Helena smiled, running her hand down his carapace (where once he'd had a backbone, his demon body beautifully alien but human, he remembered wistfully). "I've got a mission topside, extended. Helping break the Seals. If you really want to stop them, I'll help. You've always had my loyalty first, Dee."

Dean broadcast his gratefulness with body language, preparing just what he'd do to break himself, Sam, and Castiel out.

Gabriel cut another sigil into the silver door, resolutely ignoring Balthazar and Bobby behind him.

"Not a good idea, Gabe," Balthazar reminded him for the nth time.

"Cassie died for me, least I can do is try to bring him back."

He cut his hand with the iron knife and spread it in elegant symbols over the central silver plate.

"I invoke, conjure, and command. Hell as a living force and dark mirror, I invoke, conjure, and command."

He could see Bobby backing away, shaking his head, but he remained steadfast. He had to bring Castiel back.

Dean sucked in a breath when he felt the subtle tug at the gates of hell. Most wouldn't feel such a weak tug (a witch, powerful but witches just weren't equipped to open the gates) but he wasn't most.

"Cas," he barked, landing immediately behind the man. Castiel spun around, on guard already, but too slow to avoid Dean's grasp. He struggled when Dean took flight, for a moment, then went completely slack and Dean had never been more grateful for his hypnotic wings.

Sam's cage was easy to open, if one had the right equipment; all you really needed was the blood of one of the first demons. The Seals were only to allow you to open the cage from the outside, but since no one (except Dean) knew where the gates were, the Seals were mandatory. Like clearing away trees in a forest so you could see what was hidden inside.

But first. Castiel had to be cured and remade.

He gently set Castiel's prone form down in front of Sam's cage. Sam made an interested noise from inside the cage, edging forward, keeping his eyes averted from Dean.

"Dean, who is that?" his voice contained traces of anxiety and shock.

Dean closed his eyes and snapped onto the faint hellgate. Barely big enough to let the air through, let alone a demon…

Maybe with a little push.

* * *

Gabriel stared at the faint crack of red, deflating visibly. "Six months," he moaned. "Six months practicing and praying to that _fucking _demon Mick and that's all."

Bobby placed a sympathetic hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Close it up now. It's not a good idea to meddle with hell, boy."

Gabriel grumbled incoherently. "What's the point? Leave it. It'll close in a few minutes."

The smell of sulphur permeated the room and snapped at their nostrils. Balthazar made an alarmed noise.

"What?" Gabriel asked, back to the sign of his failure.

"Oh shit."

Gabriel spun when he heard the air crackle.

"Oh shit," he echoed, watching the thin seam of red widen into a gaping maw breathing sulphur and heat. And it was spreading.

"Did you-" Bobby gestured, presumably indicating witchcraft.

"No way, Jose. I don't have that kind of juice, and neither does Mick." Gabriel stumbled backwards towards the door, snatching a handful of pins out of his bag and dropping them hastily into a silver chalice anointed with blood. "Balth, Bobby, anyone got, I don't know, the Colt?"

Balthazar drew it grimly from a hidden pocket. "Any idea how powerful?"

"Not Devil-big, Balthy, but plenty big." He chewed on his bottom lip, watching the rift widen. "No clue what it is, but it could be Zaze or any of the yellow-eyes. Please let it not be Zaze," he added, "Guy's supposed to be dead."

Balthazar took aim.

* * *

_Lanie,_ Dean though desperately, _Come in, Lanie._

_What?_ She replied crossly. _Dee, I'm about to go topside, this better be important._

_It is._ He clawed a deep gouge into the rock, etching another sweeping symbol of the ritual circle. _Send me Mick._

_Mick? You said he was useless._

_He'll be useful today, Lanie. Tell him to go to me._

_In transit, ETA five seconds._ She sounded almost concerned. _Dee, take care of yourself. There's a weapon topside, not an angel sword, that can kill you if it hits your heart._

_I'll remember._ Mick appeared, kneeling beside Dean. He stumbled to his feet before catching sight of Dean's wings.

Sam slammed his hands against the bars. "Dean, what are you _doing?_ _Dean!"_

Dean twisted a clawed leg over Mick's throat, bleeding him out and painting the blood onto the cage's bars.

"_Aperi," _he commanded, _"Aperi caveam saecula."_

The bars began to melt. Satisfied, Dean turned his attentions to Castiel.

Dean's body was largely ethereal, though he could force himself to manifest in a form of pure, compacted energy made material. Castiel, as he was, was very much ethereal and would need a body.

He bit down on Castiel's throat, hands searing blotchy burns onto his arms, and tore at the impurity under his skin. His claws dug under the skin of his back and tore out the roots of the vestigial wings, feeling Castiel thrash and scream beneath him. Dimly registering his discontent and futile battle against Dean's cleansing hands and rage and fire.

He remade Castiel's body in the meantime- it had been so long since he'd last created anything, he found himself pressing actual shards of grace under Castiel's human skin.

Castiel screamed once more into the sweltering, furious air of the cage and thrashed before going absolutely limp. Dean stumbled into his vessel, yanking Sam and Castiel into their bodies at the same time, and pulled them through the hellgate.

Topside. That'd be fun, hopefully.

* * *

Balthazar, Gabriel, and Bobby stood there, tense with anticipation. "Hey," Gabriel said suddenly, "At least if I die I'll find Cassie."

Balthazar shot him a _look._ "And you think Cassie would like that?"

Gabriel shrugged. "No, but it's something to consider."

Bobby groaned. "Will you two _focus-"_

The gate exploded in towards them, spewing fumes and bright, blinding, horrifying shards of light.

Gabriel flinched backwards and tucked himself into a ball. Balthazar steadied his stance and prepared to shoot directly at whatever came through.

Three figures resolved in the light. The central figure supported what looked like half a body by his side, hands pressing around just above where the body cut off. Suddenly the brilliance vanished.

Three men, in the circle before Balthazar and Bobby, half-turned away from Gabriel. The one on the ground twitched to the side and groaned.

The only man standing turned from left to right with a devil-may-care grin. His green eyes flashed and glowed.

"Heya, witch-boy." A flash of sharp white teeth. "Thanks for opening a door. Really needed one."

Then he slung the third man, whom Gabriel could now clearly recognise as Castiel, down. "Hey, sweetheart," he muttered under his breath, tilting Castiel's limp head upwards and pressing his thumbs against Castiel's temples.

Balthazar jerked his head up, about to snap out some sassy profanity or demand that whoever green-eyes was stay away from Castiel, when green-eyes gently pressed his lips over Castiel's.

The kiss was not sweet or romantic or anything, really; there was a bluntly _utilitarian_ feel to it.

Searing light spread from between their lips and Castiel choked, body arching up from the ground. His jeans and sweater seemed to darken, sharpen, around his body.

Green-eyes sighed and scooped Castiel up into his arms, and _whoa _Gabriel's brain was only just starting to catch up with the fact that the two unknown handsome men were absolutely as naked as the day they were born.

He stared appreciatively at them both, then caught green-eyes smirking at him.

"Y'like?" he asked, waving at himself with an expansive gesture.

Gabriel nodded, mustering a cheeky grin. "The moose is more my type."

"The moo- ohh. You, sir, have bad taste."

That was, of course, the moment Balthazar chose to shoot green-eyes. Green-eyes seemed to notice what was going on and stood as quickly as possible- fast enough to avoid a headshot, but too slow to dodge the bullet entirely. It buried itself in the man's thigh, and he dropped to the floor, still cradling Castiel like some precious treasure.

"The _fuck_, man!" green-eyes patted the smoking wound with what appeared to be growing alarm. "Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, you have a hair trigger!"

Balthazar lowered the Colt with horror as green-eyes buried his fingers in the entrance wound and tore the bullet out with obvious difficulty.

"Fucking- _what even was that?-_ humans!" he let out a string of creative profanity in several different languages, many of which Gabriel was sure didn't even exist anymore.

Bobby lunged with the demon-killing knife, narrowly missing green-eyes' arm.

"_Holy-_ chill! _No no no no knives please-_ fuck, don't stab me!"

Balthazar brought the Colt up to bear on his head again, aiming around Castiel, who still lay limp on the man's shoulder.

"_Goddammit don't shoot me again!"_ Balthazar kept his aim firm. Green-eyes carefully slipped Castiel off of his shoulder and held him up. "Truce? Dude's human." He rolled his shoulders back. "Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, you have a hair trigger."

"I know that." Balthazar managed, keeping his voice very controlled. "Dude's my brother."

Green-eyes blinked and smiled. "Well then. You take him off my hands, I take my brother and some clothes, and we get out of your hair. Capische?"

"I think not." Balthazar bit out. "You called Gabriel witch-boy. Is there a way to keep him from going to hell?"

Green-eyes raised an eyebrow. "A witch is only consigned to hell as long as their… dealer is alive. Kill the demon who gives him his powers, he doesn't go to hell."

"Do you know a demon named Mick?" Balthazar asked. Gabriel slowly drew himself to his feet.

To their collective surprise, green-eyes started laughing, lowering Castiel until he was braced against the (demon? Man?)'s chest. "_Shit,_ Gabe, you're a lucky bitch. I killed Mick on my way out."

Castiel groaned and tilted his head a bit.

His reaction to green-eyes was nothing short of amusing. He flung himself across the room, hands snapping out and brushing along his sides and hips.

"Who- no, when, who, how-" Castiel froze mid-sentence and stared at his hands and down his legs and arms like he was receiving divine revelation. His fingers fluttered against his throat and collarbone, playing over the sweater's neck.

Green-eyes tipped an invisible hat which suddenly had substance, taking shape alongside jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. "Don't remember me, Cas? I'm insulted. I thought we shared something."

"Like what?!" Castiel demanded, tugging at the hem of his sweater like he was unable to believe that it fit him.

"A mutual hatred of Alastair and Azazel, for one." Green-eyes smiled lazily, bending over to yank the half-conscious man next to him- Gabriel was now naming him Moose- to his feet. "And a dislike of a great many of the men and somma the women consigned to my realm- a perversion, really."

"What?" Bobby asked.

Castiel stood slowly. "If you're who I think you are, shouldn't I be afraid of you?"

Green-eyes shook his head. "Mind cutting the devil's trap in front of the door?"

Castiel stood straighter. "Absolutely not. Who knows what you'll do, left to your own devices."

Green-eyes adjusted Moose. "Eat, drink, sleep, fuck. All of the pleasures of being corporeal and on topside again. Don't judge me," he added. "I'm a fucking demon, I do as I please with who and what I please."

"There's an innuendo in there begging to be made." Gabriel said before he could stop himself. One of these days he was going to have to sew his own mouth shut. The demon had, admittedly, left himself wide open for the comment.

Green-eyes winked and grinned lasciviously. "Already been made, dear."

"No. No. Gabriel, Balthazar, Bobby, this is Dean. I don't know his real name. He is a demon from hell. I don't know the extremely tall man next to him."

"Sammy," Dean provided, extending a hand. "Forgive him if he doesn't introduce himself. It's a bit beyond him at the moment."

Gabriel accepted the handshake bemusedly.

"Now, about letting me leave." Dean asked again.

"No." Castiel said. "You're travelling with us. We can't trust you."

Dean made a plaintive noise. "_Cas,_ you just spent the last five years with me. Ain't that enough to learn trust?"

"You're a demon. Demons lie." Bobby answered for Castiel.

Dean stared hard at all of them before enunciating, with a low and dangerous accent that Gabriel could have _sworn_ hadn't been there a moment ago, "_Hunters. _Didn't I just tell you I wasn't going to kill or tempt?"

Castiel sighed, letting his gun down. "Yes, but you're a demon."

"Tough patooties!" Dean snapped. "Look, I want to take my brother and get the hell outta dodge before the feather-ass cavalry gets called in and decides to get smitey, k? They'll not be happy with any of us, Castiel, so the farther away I can get? The better for me."

Castiel shrugged. "I'm guessing you have a way to hide us, since you didn't want them finding me in hell. Why not use it?"

Dean groaned. "I don't wanna travel with _hunters._"

Carefully, Castiel approached. "You have to."

Dean grinned suddenly. "So, you're making a deal?"

"_Hell,_ no." Balthazar 's rejection was immediate.

"Not like I can just send him to hell." Dean said. "That's bad for both of us. More like his ass is mine if he dies. Soul goes to me instead of H&H."

Castiel flinched away as Dean approached, his grimace echoed by Dean's languorous smirk. "So, deal, Cas?"

"You travel with us and harm no innocents." Castiel bit out.

"Done," Dean purred.

"You help us with our hunts and hide us. Use your powers when we require your assistance, such as in healing or when we are cursed, and you do not get in the way of our hunts under any circumstance."

"What's in it for me?"

Castiel's shoulders rose in a way that Gabriel suspected was supposed to look uncaring but that came across as helpless. "Who knows."

Dean laughed. "How about this: you _let us do_ what we want if it won't hurt any innocents. You _never_ ask about our true names. You _don't_ threaten us or make us sit in the back of the bus, and I mean that figuratively, yeah? None of that skulking around shit. You think we're up to something, you ask. I swear on my blood and wings that neither of us shall tell a lie."

Castiel nodded, thinking through. "Um, that sounds good."

"That all?" Dean asked. At Castiel's stiff nod, he smiled, grasping a handful of his black sweater and yanking him forward. "Then pucker up, buttercup."

Despite Balthazar's pointed, gagging complaints, the kiss went on for far longer than Gabriel knew necessary for a contract.

Castiel stood stiffly until Dean released him with a messy, delighted grin. "Cas, I almost want to ask you for another go. Contract's no fun without an active participant."

Castiel raised his eyes to heaven. "I have no desire to repeat that."

Dean started laughing. "Oh _man._ Be glad I didn't pull the fine print."

Gabriel had to ask. "Fine print?"

Bobby raised a warning hand, but Dean barrelled on regardless. "Well, according to the letter of the law, a demon of my stature can only seal a deal with-" he wriggled his eyebrows- "a perfectly natural and lovely act commonly known as 'copulation' or, in the common vernacular of you humans, 'fucking'."

"You couldn't just say you were gonna have sex with him?" Bobby griped.

"Sounded better."

Balthazar groaned. "If you're going to seal a deal my virgin cousin, tell us so that we can leave the room."

"The deal is _sealed,_" Castiel snapped. "There will be no need for any of that."

"Wait, virgin?" Dean whistled. "Remind me to change that sometime. You died a _virgin,_" he muttered. "Thank God you got a second chance."

Bobby scooped up his duffel. "Your brother bound by the deal you made?"

Dean nodded. "Or I die trying to hold him to it."

"Stronger than you?" Bobby asked, an eyebrow jumping up.

"That's not possible." Castiel scoffed. "Dean was maybe the strongest in Hell. I didn't know anyone stronger except maybe Lucifer."

Dean flinched. "Yeahh, let's not think about that. Sammy was stronger than me for a while there but who knows, now. Anyhow he needs sleep. Is- can I use someone's bed or couch for him?"

Castiel knelt, scraping at the paint of the devil's trap. "We have a guest room."

Dean's face broke into a relieved, friendly smile as he guided his brother, half-dragging him after Castiel.

Silence reigned when they passed through the doors, pausing only to score a line through a trap etched on the doorstep.

"I'll call Jimmy and Claire," Gabriel offered. Then he fled.


	4. Chapter 3

The Enochian is rough, and I didn't even try to make a rhyme and write it out. So this is chapter 3, for your reading pleasure. It's my hope that you like it.

Chapter 3

"With all due respect, you're crazy."

"That's a question. Am I? Was Nietzche-"

"No. You're actually going crazy. Absolutely nothing good can come from this. Please, just turn it back."

* * *

Dean carefully tucked the blanket over Sam, who groaned and shifted. Cas stood in the corner, watching him.

Dean was painfully conscious of Castiel's laserlike focus when he began to sing softly in Enochian. Even if his voice was only a crude approximation of his true one, he could surely calm his brother with familiar words and cadence. Even if it was only a lullaby, sung to calm restless fledglings.

Sam turned his head to the side, breathing calming. _"Tzaphquiel,"_ he mumbled. "_Mikhail, esiasch, ag- Ol gnai ag ol svrzas!" _Dean's breath caught in his throat.

"What is he saying?" Castiel asked.

"He's having a nightmare." Dean muttered. "About when we fell."

Castiel's gaze sharpened. "Fell- then you were once angels?"

Dean nodded, shaky, wordless.

"What were you singing?"

"A lullaby," Dean said. "Uh- translation's a bitch- something about the earth and god and the true worshippers that gaze upon thee and love and shit."

Castiel chuckled.

There was a tentative knock on the door.

"Cassie?" Gabriel asked, slipping in. "Gigantor asleep?"

Dean ignored him in favour of focusing very hard on the fabric of Sam's blanket.

"Yes. Oh, that reminds me. Dean, you should probably conceal us from the eyes of those pursuing us."

Dean stood. "Us three are safe from the angels already. Round up the others, and as we meet people who're gonna travel with us I'm going to have to keep doing it."

Gabriel backed away when Dean approached. "Yes, no, thank you sir demon but I really have to pass on anything you're going to do-"

Dean paused. "It's going to happen anyways," he pointed out.

Gabriel gestured down the hall. "Balthy first."

Dean nodded consideringly before lunging, planting his palm firmly over Gabriel's sternum. Gabriel howled and jerked back, arms folding around his ribs protectively.

"What the hell!"

"I branded your ribs," Dean said by way of explanation. "They can't find you now."

"Wonderful, thanks, why did it hurt?" Gabriel interrupted. "Cassie didn't say anything about it hurting."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look. There are certain things you can do when you remake someone's body. One of those is _grow the patterns into the bone._ Which doesn't hurt, particularly because he's dead while you do it."

Gabriel raised one eyebrow. "Remake his body? That's not normal demon fare."

"Not a normal demon." Dean said. "I've taken Christ's name; isn't that proof enough?"

Gabriel paused. "Ohh. Huh. What are you?"

"Fallen," Castiel said. "Gabriel, how are Balthazar and Bobby?"

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. "I don't know? I left the room. To, you know, call your _twin brother maybe."_

"Jimmy," Castiel said with evident relief. "How has he been doing? I know he was worried about the- the demon blood thing-"

"Demon blood? Twin brother?" Dean interrupted. "Cas, who's Jimmy?"

"What does it matter?" Castiel asked, frustrated. "Dean, Jimmy is my twin brother. We were separated two months after birth and I went to a family of hunters- Balthazar and Gabriel's- and Jimmy went to the Novaks. I found him during a hunt a few years ago."

Dean closed his eyes. "Okay. Didn't know that."

"Dean? Are you-"

"Fine, Cas. Why don't you go down there and reunite with your bro. I'll stick with Sammy. He's still sick, but he'll wake up soon and I've gotta be there for him."

Gabriel left, and after a moment of watching Dean watching Sam, Castiel followed him.

"Sammy, what did we get ourselves into?" Dean asked, adjusting the blankets around Sam's body.

He watched his brother's still form- demons didn't need to breathe, after all, and neither did angels- and imagined all of the scenarios that could result from Jimmy meeting them, none of them good.

"I'm an idiot," he told the empty air.

Predictably, there was no response.

* * *

When Castiel opened the door to firm knocking, he was almost expecting Jimmy to barrel through and wrap his arms tightly around Castiel.

"Castiel," Jimmy mumbled. "You bastard, you came back."

Castiel brought his arms up awkwardly, gently patting Jimmy's back and flinching backwards when Claire wrapped herself around his left leg.

He nodded into Jimmy's shoulder. "I suppose I am."

Gabriel snuck around the corner and offered Castiel a lollipop. "After coming back, Cassie, maybe you have a newfound appreciation for sweets."

Jimmy released Castiel and nudged Claire back. "Gabriel. Thank you for calling me."

Balthazar loped in. "Jimmy. Cassie, how is our guest?"

"Guest?" Jimmy asked.

"I'm not explaining it." Balthazar turned around and fled back into the kitchen.

"Guest?" Jimmy demanded.

Castiel took a breath. "Jimmy, don't run upstairs. We have a pair of demons recuperating upstairs."

Jimmy lunged for the stairwell, already drawing his knife.

Castiel stepped between him and (_Sam, Dean_) and held up a hand. "They raised me. They're friends. I knew them in hell." (_which wasn't quite a lie_)

Jimmy waved the knife in sharp, jagged patterns. "They're demons! Demons don't just raise hunters out of the goodness of their hearts!"

"I don't know Dean's motives," Castiel said gently. "But they have made a contract with us to neither harm us nor any civilians, barring those that mean us harm."

Jimmy widened his eyes. "You made _another_ deal?"

Castiel groaned. "No, no. I made-"

"A deal." Balthazar snapped. "For his soul. With the demon Dean."

Dean thudded down the stairs just as Jimmy puffed up his chest, standing straight in preparation to shout at Castiel. "I need some water, Cas. Got a cup- oh." He let out an awkward half-wave. "Hello, I suppose you're Jimmy Novak."

Claire ducked behind Jimmy, who crouched lower to point the knife and pat at his back pockets futilely for a gun. "Demon."

Gabriel slipped past Balthazar into the kitchen. Dean followed him, removing a glass from the cupboard and carrying it into the sink.

Jimmy followed, keeping Claire behind him and the knife between him and Dean. Castiel kept himself between the knife and Dean, the hilarious tableau lessened somewhat by the tense atmosphere.

Dean turned the tap and filled the cup.

Too late, Castiel remembered the rosary taped inside the pipes. Dean took a swallow of the water before Castiel could warn him.

Coughing, Dean spat the water out, swallowing heavily and blinking quickly. Smoke and steam billowed out of his mouth. "Fucking- dammit, holy water on _tap_?"

Jimmy barked out a laugh. "I can't believe Castiel let you in. Much less Bobby or Balthazar."

Gabriel made an insulted noise.

Dean locked gazes with Jimmy. "Maybe he let me in because I did more for him than you could."

A growl rose in Jimmy's throat. "How could you-"

"I raised him," Dean interrupted. "I trained him on how to survive, took him away from his torturers in the dark hours. I remade his body, saved his soul, and brought him back to life, and as I did it, I saved Gabriel from going to Hell. What have you done?"

Jimmy faltered. "You're a demon."

Dean's eyes blazed black for the first time, gleaming liquidly in the mixture of failing sunlight and artificial light. "Yeah, and?" tints of green peeked through the black until the black was marbled with a bright green that almost seemed to glow. Dean blinked his eyes, perturbed, allowing them to fade back to the human eyes that still seemed unrealistically green.

Jimmy's knifepoint was abruptly pointed at Dean again, tip just a few feet from Dean's chest. "Demons lie. They never do anything for anyone unless there's something in it for them."

Dean brought his hand up so that the tip of the knife rested on the palm of his hand. "You think you can kill me?"

"This is a cursed knife made by Artemis," Jimmy snarled. "It'll kill anything on God's green earth."

Keeping eye contact, Dean slowly pressed forward, sliding the serrated knife through his palm. Blood dripped onto the floor and pooled, but Dean hardly winced. Shocks of electric energy ran through him, highlighting his skeleton.

Dean curled his fingers around the hilt of the knife with a sharp smile, pulling it out of Jimmy's suddenly limp grasp and flinging it to the side. He brought his hand up to his mouth and lapped lazily at the blood. "You were saying?"

Jimmy stepped back, hands flying to push Claire farther behind him. "That's not-"

"I'm not of God's green Earth," Dean spat, squeezing his hand above the cup and allowing a drop of his blood to fall into the water. "And I'm not some demon you can just yank around and exorcise and kill. I'm on a whole 'nother level, and don't you dare think you can match up to me, much less kill me. I don't like you, Jimmy. Your brother-" he waved the cup at Castiel, the water sloshing around. "Your brother I respect. I don't know you from Adam, Jimmy, but already you presume and you joke and you snarl and you are arrogant, Jimmy Novak, you are arrogant. I made a deal with Cas but it doesn't mean I just have to take your shit."

"Dean," snapped Castiel, whirling around the counter to grab Dean's arm and force it down.

Jimmy was breathing hard, eyes wide. He turned and stormed off, Claire scurrying after him with worried glances backwards at Dean, eyes dancing up and down over his hand and his eyes.

Dean took a deep breath the moment Jimmy was gone. "Shit, he scares me."

Balthazar's eyes popped open. "_He_ scares _you?_ Pardon, but I do believe you just terrified him out of his socks."

"Ever heard of bluffing?" Dean leaned heavily on the counter. "His tricky mind-mojo is one of the only things that can kill me easy."

"I'll get you some water, not holy," Castiel muttered, trying to move off of the topic. "You can bring it to Sam-"

"Done," Dean said dismissively. "My mojo's strong enough that a bit of my blood makes any water some of the unholiest shit out there." He grinned. "Ooh, watch."

He poured some of the holy water from the sink into the cup. The cup fizzled and glowed, water bubbling over the rim and turning funny, sickish colours.

Balthazar made a scandalised noise. "That's what happens if you mix holy and unholy waters?"

Dean grinned. "Neat, huh? Burns just about anything holy, too. We don't call it unholy water, though. Uh… some people call it devil's spit."

Castiel eyed the cup warily. "That seems dangerous. Is that safe to drink?"

"Sure," Dean offered him the cup. Castiel took it over Balthazar's shocked exclamation and drank a mouthful.

It was sour, slightly metallic, with a hint of strychnine-bitterness.

Dean took the cup back, smearing a touch more of his blood over the rim before filling it back up to the brim. It fizzled before settling down.

He retreated up the stairs, casting a wink towards Castiel.

Balthazar looked at the side room, then the stairwell. "Your boyfriend is afraid of Jimmy."

"The demon blood," Gabriel said. "It can kill him."

"We can hold that over him," agreed Balthazar.

"No." Castiel rinsed the fizzing remains of the devil's spit off the sink edge. "We can't. We would be breaking contract, and Dean is bound to be loyal to us despite his attitudes. He can no more harm us than any crossroads demon can go back on their contract without an addendum that allows it. And there was no addendum."

"How do you know there isn't an addendum, then?" Balthazar asked.

"Dean can be canny, but he dislikes complicated contracts. Those conditions he stated and agreed to, that is what is written on the contract. He might take offence to Devil's Traps, but he won't violate our safety as Hunters."

"Wonderful. So now we're lugging a demon along on our hunts?" Jimmy asked, appearing in the doorway. "That's- ridiculous. How could you make a deal like that? Are you crazy?"

"No," Castiel said. "Dean is a friend, and I trust him. He is bound to help us by his deal." He had begun to grow tired of repeating it and decided to cut Jimmy's protest off. "No, we aren't just going to embrace him, but you need to understand that he can be trusted. We can ask him for any information and he will answer honestly."

Balthazar widened his eyes disbelievingly. "You would just trust him?"

"Yes," Castiel repeated.

In his mind, he felt Dean's burning hands sealing over his shoulders, dragging him _up_ and _down_ and _out_ then _in_ and his back burned and tore and seared. He felt Dean's teeth scrape over his jaw and throat and spiny proboscis peel away the skin of his throat and lash at his gut and lungs and the inside of his skull.

When Balthazar and Gabriel turned away, he rubbed his forehead, expecting to feel the soft pits where Dean had dug his horns out. His smooth, convex forehead startled him.

Castiel had resolved not to tell Gabriel or Balthazar anything about his experience in Hell. He would have to warn Dean about that, ask him not to tell anyone about anything in Hell.

In his mind, he relived being saved, Dean's harsh hands digging into his flesh, having left smears of blood that made red burn marks that Castiel _knew_ would never fade.

In his mind, he kept trapped the memory about how he had struggled against Dean, pushed against his chest and unyielding, burning hands, and screamed profanity and hatred into Dean's mouth. How he hadn't wanted to be saved, how he had beat at Dean when Dean tore his wings out.

Castiel would never tell. How could he?


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"I'm redefining Good."

"You're- oh no. No no no. You said it wasn't going to be like this!"

Sam choked in his sleep, reacting to perceived horrors. He coughed and spat and hissed and peeled back his lips in an attempt to open his mouth the way a vessel's couldn't.

Dean rested his palm on Sam's forehead, digging into his psyche and tearing apart the nightmares.

Behind him, Cas entered, watching Dean pour some of the water into Sam's mouth, gently soothing him into drinking it and leaning back.

"I didn't know demons could get nightmares," Castiel said softly.

"Whenever we choose to sleep." Dean said, focused very carefully on Sam. "Nightmares never go away, no matter what species you are. If the angels ever chose to sleep, they'd have nightmares too."

"Do you have nightmares?"

"When I sleep. So yes. After drinking copious amounts of alcohol."

Castiel took a breath. "Hell-"

"What about it?" Dean eyed him. "Do you want me to keep it quiet?"

"Please," Castiel mumbled. "I can't- if Gabriel knew- if _Balthazar-_"

"It'd be hard to look them in the eyes, wouldn't it," and Dean understood, honestly, he did.

Castiel nodded weakly. "Please," he whispered.

Dean nodded. "Your secret to keep, Cas."

Sam's back arched up and he cried out, pressing his back into the mattress, rolling furiously back and forth. "_Esiasch, lava gmicalzoma-_"

Dean pressed his hand over Sam's mouth. He didn't know how much of his Grace Castiel had, but he couldn't just chance it.

"What is he-"

"Nightmares," Dean said, cutting him off. "He remembers the Fall."

"It hurt?"

"Wouldn't it?"

Castiel sat in the chair next to Dean's, watching Sam writhe. "Why would you help us?"

"Huh?"

"You are a demon. If Lucifer won, if the apocalypse happened, there's a good chance that you would live in relative luxury and happiness. Why would you help us?" Castiel watched Sam's chest rise and fall.

Dean leaned back in his chair. "Maybe I didn't want to see the world end."

"That's what you said before. So it was true?"

"Yeah."

"Jimmy's scared of you."

"I'm terrified of him."

"Why?" Castiel asked. "He can kill you, but you didn't seem too afraid of dying when we made a deal. When you dragged me out. I felt it, you know. You weren't afraid of what they'd do to you. You were afraid for Sam."

Dean nodded. "I'm not afraid. But if he kills me, Sam… he's never been topside before. And even if you tried, he'd just get pissed off. He'd kill Jimmy. You'd kill him. Angels'd get you. No-win scenario. You know?" then he chuckled. "I worry, you know?"

Castiel watched Sam stir uneasily, restlessly twisting in the sheets. "Yes."

And then he turned to Dean and murmured, "I don't know why you won't tell me the truth. You did not technically violate our deal, and I have no idea why you would not tell me, but I won't pry. I swear now, I will only press for information if I believe it essential for our survival."

Dean smiled weakly. "We need to travel to Seattle."

"Seattle? Why?"

And Dean seemed more relaxed, suddenly excited. "We need to pick up a friend. She'll help dissuade the angels."

"Who? Anyone I met?"

"Helena. No."

Castiel quirked a tiny smile before it occurred to him. "Wait- _angels?_ We're fleeing from _angels,_ and not demons?"

"Angels are basically self-contained spiritual nuclear reactors, Cas. Wrap them up in a human body- it can be anything from a small child to a bodybuilder- and you have a controlled package of smite."

"They could be allies. I am the Righteous Man, like you explained in Hell, are they not bound to help me? And why are they coming down now of all times?"

Dean hissed out a breath from between his teeth. "Cas, let's be honest here. The angels are pissed. They've made alterations and forced destiny to start the apocalypse _now-_now, sent you to Hell to break the first seal. I essentially threw a wrench in the works."

"What?" Castiel asked sharply. "What did you do? Does it have to do with you raising me? Did you turn me into- something- what did you do?"

Dean's hands flew up and grasped Castiel's arms just below the shoulder. "Breathe. No. I screwed some shit up in Hell as we left. They still need you and Jimmy to actually start the End Times, but as of now? We're off the book. This is the mother of all plot twists, Cas. We're so far off the radar we can't _ever_ fly back on. They're trying to get you, but the game changed."

"What are they going to do?" Cas breathed through his nose for a few long minutes before Dean answered.

"They want you or Jimmy to kill me or Sam. Or any elder demon or Fallen. Lilith works, Ramiel works, Rameel and Dantanian and Forcas and all of those vermin work. Their- our blood is a catalyst. It changes the way the world works. Lilith would be best, but in their eyes beggars can't be choosers. And you or Jimmy have to kill us."

Castiel paused. "That's why you're afraid of Jimmy."

Dean's smile was more of a grimace when he nodded. "You with your blood and Jimmy with his mojo? Eurgh. We die. Technically, were Gabriel still a witch, his powers'd work too."

"My blood?"

"Certain, old, stupidly convenient rituals allow the blood of the Righteous Man to become a lethal toxin, like acid, to the bodies of the Fallen."

Castiel smiled weakly. "I suppose we won't be using those."

"Nope," Dean enunciated with relish, popping the 'p'. "One less thing I have to worry about."

Castiel let his head fall onto Dean's shoulder. "We're in deep, aren't we?"

"Running from demons, angels, and what-have-you," Dean agreed. "Buckle up, it's going to be a rough ride, Cas."

Castiel muffled a laugh into Dean's shoulder. Dean let his eyes slide shut, and they sat in peace for a few minutes, listening to Sam rustle about on the bed.

His stillness went unnoticed until he cleared his throat and asked, voice barely louder than a croak, "Where am I?"

Gabriel was caught by surprise when the ceiling made loud thudding noises. Balthazar looked up, alarmed, and Jimmy ran for the stairway shouting for Castiel.

Rushing in, they saw Castiel carefully scooping the blanket and lamp up off the floor as Dean wrestled Sam onto the bed. Sam was crying out hoarsely, wailing and thrashing until Dean mumbled in an odd half-growl. He subsided instantly, staring at Castiel with wide, panicked eyes.

"You're going to kill me," Sam gasped out, clinging to Dean like a lifeline. "D- Dean, he's going to kill me. He's- no, not yet, Michael it wasn't me _it wasn't me-_"

Dean gently petted Sam's hair, soothing him. "Cas is with us, Sammy. Breathe. Breathe. Look, he's not going to kill you. Michael isn't here, not yet, he won't be, Sammy, you're fine."

Sam whimpered helplessly, dissolving into tears and soft wails. "Dean, _Dean,_ what did you do, what did you _do!_ He's going to kill you, kill me, kill us, we can't stop him ever why would you-"

"Breathe!" Dean commanded. Sam stopped and gulped breath, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Gabriel felt a stab of upset- _no one_ should look that shattered, that betrayed, much less such a powerfully built, handsome college-aged man.

"Moose, you okay?" he asked, approaching cautiously. Dean froze and his hands tightened imperceptibly into Sam's white shirt.

Sam stared, grey eyes soft and tired. "Moose?" he asked, glancing at Dean.

"Uh." Gabriel grinned. "Big animal, huge, actually, with horns and hair like yours."

Sam plucked at his slightly curled, longish hair. "Oh." He looked Gabriel over. "You're a witch."

"Ex-witch," Gabriel corrected.

"You're not happy about that."

Gabriel swallowed, ignoring Balthazar and Jimmy staring at him. "No, not really. I'm the smallest of us and that's the only thing that kept me safe."

He remembered that high-level demons could read minds and he had no doubt that Sam was intruding.

Sam winced. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll stop if you want."

Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. "I'm used to it. Mick demanded access to my mind."

Balthazar yelped and Jimmy demanded explanation and access to weapons that would kill Mick.

Sam's eyes sparked. "We killed him."

Jimmy went still.

Gabriel nodded. "Great. So. How're ya feeling? Lollipop?" and thusly Gabriel Angeles, hunter, witch, and elder brother, offered a tootsie pop to a fallen angel.

Sam accepted the candy curiously, eyes going wide. "This is- sugar?" he grinned delightedly, biting down and splintering it. His eyes went wide and damn if it wasn't the most adorably humorous thing Gabriel had ever seen.

"Sugar, yup." He shot a look at Dean- what kind of brother never gave his sibling candy?- but Dean shrugged.

Sam was chewing at the Tootsie roll- "Tsocolatl," he diagnosed.

Gabriel laughed. "Chocolate, now, Sammers."

"Oh." Sam suddenly seemed to unfold, leaning towards Gabriel. "Do- is there a library around here. I last saw one in Spain's colony in Teotihuacan, but I suppose there might be one where we are-"

"When did you go to Teotihuacan?" Dean asked roughly. "I thought you weren't allowed topside."

Sam smiled. "I wasn't, but you were, and you never really figured out how to stop singing when you meditated."

"Singing?" Balthazar asked with a cough. "That seems… rather out-of-character."

"Angels sing to communicate." Dean said. "We all have pretty good voices, if you could bear the sound of them enough to listen."

Castiel approached Sam cautiously. "Hello, Sam."

Sam's eyes flickered down to the floor for just a moment. "Hello. Righteous Man, you are…?"

"Castiel," he introduced himself. "Your brother is fond of calling me Cas."

Sam nodded. "Is there a library…" he trailed off hopefully, switching back and forth between Castiel and Gabriel. Castiel hesitated, wondering at the wisdom of taking one of the Fallen, powerful enough to terrorise every being in Hell, to a human library replete with 'meat-sacks', innocents, and pitiful sinners.

Gabriel showed no such restraint. "Sure, sure. Shower and fling something on and we'll be off."

Sam's expression glowed with delight. "There _is_ one nearby! Fantastic! Dean, how do you shower?"

Dean escorted his brother into the bathroom.

Jimmy and Balthazar stared at Gabriel.

"What?" Gabriel defended. "He's never been topside, he's a little nerd, he's a moose, he needs someone short and savvy with him!"

Castiel snorted. "It was unexpected. You will take him?"

"Check him out some books, if he wants," Gabriel said breezily. "And buy him some candy. Poor moose's been deprived for all of his cosmic, divine, far-reaching existence."

Jimmy snorted and stormed down the stairs. Dean emerged from the bathroom.

"What crawled up his ass?" he asked. "Sammy's gotten started. Don't let him stay the night, Gabe."

Gabriel smiled. "Library closes at eight, don't worry a thing." Feeling more nervous than he probably looked, Gabriel plopped down into the chair by the bed, already peeling the wrapper from a Snickers bar.

Dean stared at him for a moment, bemused, before turning to glance at Castiel. They stared, gazes locked, for several seconds- long enough to make Balthazar and Gabriel uncomfortable, if they were honest about it- like it was some secret form of communication. At long last they broke eye contact and Castiel turned to his siblings.

"We need to go to Seattle."

"Oh, the case?" Gabriel asked, his heart sinking in his chest. And he had been looking forward to surprising Cassie with that one. A poltergeist at Pike Place Market would have been so fun to introduce to them-

"No," Castiel said, brow wrinkling. "There is a case?" a bubble of hope surged in Gabriel's chest. Finally, a chance to prove once and for all to Balthazar and Jimmy that he was useful beyond his magic.

"Yes." Balthazar interrupted, shattering Gabriel's bubble. "Pike Place Market. But what did you want to go there for?"

"Dean has a contact there who I am sure can potentially provide some assistance." Castiel said, looking at Dean again.

_Thaaaat_ was a guilty look. Castiel was _so_ not telling the Truth, capital-T Truth that Gabriel knew Bobby would want.

"Cassie, who's the contact?"

"A demon. Helena."

Gabriel absorbed this. "She sounds powerful?"

Dean nodded. "Very. She and Alastair faced off every now and then, and many said that it never came to blows because Alastair wasn't sure he could win. And for a human-turned-demon, Alastair was pretty scary."

"I can talk to Dietrich. The Allen kid? And we can always ask Laurie if she's heard of a Helena around." Balthazar jogged down the stairs, following Jimmy.

"There's more," Gabriel said, waiting.

Castiel obliged. "Demons aren't the only things after us. Angels are too."

"Angels? Fucking feathery pretty people?"

Dean snorted. "More like waves of celestial intent that burn with a righteousness immortal and absolute."

"And they want to kill us?" Gabriel asked. "That's- no. How? Why?"

"They were supposed to raise Cas from the dead, not me," Dean answered. "They think he's corrupted. Half-demonic. That he'll fight for the demons in the coming battle."

Castiel made a soft noise. "I want to kill them," he said fiercely. "The demons. For killing my parents, for making Jimmy the way he is, for every innocent person they've corrupted and killed, for _everything._"

Gabriel nodded. "So we know their fears are completely unfounded. Do they know we know they're coming?"

"I don't think so," Dean confessed, pressing Castiel's shoulders until he slumped into an open chair and oh, that was fishy. Castiel didn't just _submit_ to people. He hated feeling weak or blindly obeying because- as Babette once said in _Beauty and the Beast-_ 'I've been burned before!'

"Okay, Cassie." Gabriel said. "I'll help convince Bal and Jimmy to go down there with us. Tell me though; what's really up?"

"Excuse me?" Castiel asked, drawing his eyebrows together. "I don't-"

"What did Mr Fallen Angel here tell you?" Gabriel said. "'cause from what I see it's upset you."

Castiel squeaked out a response. "I may have just started the apocalypse."

Gabriel stared at them. "Start at the beginning."

"There is no beginning," Dean said. "The first seal of Lucifer's cage is broken when a Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell. Though he doesn't remember, it still happened."

Castiel lifted his head cautiously. "I'm sorry, Gabriel."

"So I take Gigantor to the library and after that we talk to Jimmy about going to Seattle." Gabriel smiled. "I can do that."

"Gabriel, don't you care about-"

"No, Cassie." Gabriel said firmly. "You had no way of knowing what was going to happen. Leave it."

Sam stumbled out of the bathroom, steam rising off of his bare back. He shrugged on a large black hoodie and red t-shirt that Dean handed him out of nowhere and turned to smile at Gabriel, his hair curling lightly at the ends in an endearing college-student look. Gabriel decided that Sam would fit right in with the crowd of people at the library.

"Ready to go, Samoose?" he asked.

Sam nodded vigorously, yanking at the hoodie until it abruptly stretched down over his hips. He appeared satisfied with its baggy fit and slouched slightly. "What is this?" he asked, pushing his hands into the pockets.

"A hoodie." Dean said. "Thought you'd like it baggy. Comfy?"

Sam smiled, stretching backwards. "Yes."

Gabriel watched Sam's visible delight at the hoodie and jeans, his puzzlement with the sneakers Dean again supplied, and laughed at the way he stared at the cell phone as though it were some mythical torture device.

"Can we go now?" he asked Gabriel with a boyish grin.

As they left through the front door, Jimmy watched mistrustfully from the doorframe. Sam accepted the Kit-Kat Gabriel offered him, biting into it with a tiny, cheerful groan at the chocolate.

"This library, how far away is it?" Sam asked, watching the bleary skies slide past.

"Not far." Gabriel announced, pulling up next to a white truck and a gray minivan. He opened the door with a courteous gesture to Sam and led him into the library.

Sam's reaction was at once comical and wonderful, his excitement and exuberance tangible even in silence. Gabriel settled down with a laptop and comic books and alternated between looking for jobs, reading the comics, and watching Sam's vibrations of excitement as he pored over the shelves, leaving no book untouched.

Gabriel was glad he'd suggested this. He'd needed a reprieve from the tension-filled testosterone zone at Bobby's house and this, here, in the library with Sam, was exactly that. He was watching a millennia-old being discover books, rediscover history, and find out so much about the world he'd been separated from, and it was so much more adorable than he could have thought.

An hour later, Sam wandered up, a crease in his brow, and about five books under his arm.

"These books," he announced.

"Those books." Gabriel said.

"They are contradictory!" Sam declared, opening the books to different pages and stabbing at sentences. Gabriel didn't bother reading them; he knew the look of a rant that didn't need someone to commiserate, only a captive audience.

"And this!" he slammed a dusty bible down between them.

He blinked. He hadn't expected that.

"It's _wrong!"_ Sam snapped, seemingly much angrier about that.

"What part-" Gabriel began, stomach lurching.

"The Fall," Sam said miserably. "They were so, so wrong. How is this The Word of God? It's not what happened. Not ever what happened."

Gabriel studied his fingers, splayed over the black cover of the book. "I'm sorry." He said.

Sam sat down heavily, laying his head down on his arms tiredly.

"And those books?" Gabriel prodded.

Sam perked up. "This one is a book about Wicca, and this is about the Salem Witch Trials. Topside they don't know much about witches, do they?"

Gabriel shook his head, chuckling. "We are a rare breed that tends to die young without passing much on. What's your verdict?"

Sam raised his head, eyes meeting Gabriel's with an unnerving seriousness. "You're a witch."

"Yeah?" Gabriel asked, forcing a disaffected air.

"I'm a demon." He leaned forward, not bothering to disguise his almost-aggressive almost-eager body language. "Would you like to form a contract?"

Gabriel's world froze, time slowing and focusing between him and Sam's serious grey gaze. "Are you shitting me?"

"No. I wouldn't, not about this." Sam's eyes are endearing and beseeching. "You want your power, Gabriel, but you can't pray to another demon besides me or Dean or Dean's friend. And I like you. Don't you think it would be for the best?"

Gabriel swallowed. "Sounds too good to be true, Samsquatch," he joked.

Sam smiled. "Almost, right? But it is true. Gabriel, it's a good idea. Think about it."

"Would my- no. Sam, give me a night to think about it, huh? Give a man some warning. I don't put out on the first date."

Sam sighed. "Take as long as you want. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

Gabriel nodded and watched Sam drift back off the browse.

He took a bite of a Snickers bar. "Shit."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Aaaand scene. So sorry for the long wait, but a series of problems- including a broken-to-death computer- prevented any updates. I will try to keep to a schedule, but it may become sporadic. Well, more so.

But! First fight scene ever written! Based off of a demonstration I saw in my dojo, and hopefully at least a little bit accurate or dynamic. Thank you!

* * *

"Made-up things thrown in for depth aren't good for anyone, you know. Sir."

"Oh, hush."

* * *

Elaine smiled at the woman browsing the crystal shelves. "I like amethyst, and tiger's eye is particularly nice."

The woman tossed her a derisive look. "Citrine is much better, in my opinion."

Elaine grinned, and, when the woman checked out, she dropped a long thin box into the bag. "Incense," she explained to the woman. "Free, thank you for being one of our clients."

The woman nodded, turning around and stepping out, relaxed.

Elaine tapped the silver bowl on the desk next to her, rippling the blood in it. It flickered with odd black shapes. She sucked in a breath.

"Well." Setting small bundles of herbs at the upper level on fire, dousing them in sand, Elaine allowed a barrier of smoke to fill the upstairs front of the shop.

Careful not to breathe.

The rain began outside. Elaine's mother described the drizzle as depressing, but Elaine- "I find peace in the rain," she had told her mother once.

The smoke began to seep down into the lower level with delicate tendrils and questing puffs. Elaine set up a few fans to keep a current circulating that would keep the most of the smoke away from the counter, where she was.

The bell rang and she heard a few aggravated male voices.

"-damned smoke in here!" one shouted. She closed her eyes. Mm. No one she knew.

A blast of painful, agonised coughing made her smile. _Gotcha, asshole._

"Are you all right?" a different, deeper voice, slightly gravelled- _whiskey,_ her mother would have called it- asked, frantic.

Another bout of coughing, this time with a wet, desperate edge. The higher, accented voice began muttering something frantically and she knew that his friend had started coughing up smoke of his own. Oh, he wouldn't last long.

Footsteps thundered across the upstairs level and someone had to stop awkwardly to clamber down her ladder. Idiot hadn't noticed the staircase.

A man wearing a v-neck and black slacks drew a gun on her. "What is this?" he asked, pointing at the smoke. "You've made our friend very sick."

She tossed a hex bag at him. "Catch."

He stared at it in his hand like it was a poisonous snake. Interesting. So he knew what they were for.

"Don't play with me," he snarled, throwing it to the ground. He struck a match and dropped it on top of the bag with fluid precision.

She sat down. "You came to kill me." She reported without preamble.

"Kill-" the man looked puzzled and wild. "No, no, your demon BFF Dean-no-last-name said you could help us!"

"He normally goes by the last name Winchester." she provided. "Wait, _Dean?_ He's the one hacking up his lungs?" Oops.

"Yes!" the man barked. "Undo whatever you did to him! I don't care, but Cassie'd have an aneurism!"

She flung her hand out, flinging the shop windows and doors open and summoning a stiff breeze. No easy thing, she realised; it had been too long since her last visit topside and she would regret twisting the wind later.

The moment the smoke cleared she ran upstairs. Dean was on his hands and knees next to- she nearly backed away on solid, terrified instinct- the Righteous Man. Blood had splattered the floor beneath his head.

"Shit," she said. "Oh, oh shit." She dropped down next to Dean and folded him onto his side, allowing a bit of her tainted magic to filter into his bloodstream.

Dean's coughing lessened, the sloppy, painful quality gradually vanishing.

"Breathe," she commanded.

Dean coughed one last time before glancing up. "Hell of a welcome."

She looked away, unwittingly meeting the eyes of the Righteous Man. _Oh._ His eyes really were the strange blue of Grace, jewel-toned like nothing on Earth. She hadn't seen that kind of light in forever. "Hello, Castiel." she said, wondering how she kept her voice steady.

"Helena," he greeted.

The third man looked between them all. "You have me at a disadvantage," he confessed. "I'm Balthazar."

She smiled freely, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you, Balthazar. How are you doing?"

"Rather well, dear, and can I say that you look quite charming?"

"You're a dirty flirt. It's only a vessel, and I assure you that my looks are considerably worse than the charming ones of this lovely young lady."

"Come on," Dean groaned. "Flirting over my sickbed? Really?"

Helena chuckled, and Balthazar shot her an amused smile. "My lady, I think we will get along just fine."

"We have work," Dean reminded them. Castiel and Helena helped him up, scampered back to the counter, returned, and offered him a purple drink which he downed quickly, grimacing.

"With what?" she asked, settling down across the counter.

"Angels."

She paused, drawing a long, thin, edgeless blade from under the counter and laying it by Dean's hand.

"Not enough." Dean said.

"Keeley's." she offered, drawing another that seemed oddly lighter in her hand, despite their identical size.

Dean lifted it gently. "Need a down payment?"

She held out a hand. Balthazar made a tiny noise when Dean placed a blade in her hand; identical but for a faint, sickly dim grey tint to the metal.

She picked it up and whistled. "You're pretty serious, huh?"

He nodded tightly.

Helena gave it back, pressing it into his palm. "Take the swords. You need anything else?"

"Yes." Castiel interrupted. "We may be pursued, so be aware that you might be a target."

Her eyes flew open and she stared at Dean. "Did you just make me a target, Dean Winchester?"

He shrugged. "It was going to happen anyways. Everyone knew where your loyalties lay."

Helena made a light choking sound. "That's it, I'm going with you. You made this bed, you lay in it, Dean. Don't throw me under the bus."

"Weren't you the one that taught me not to mix metaphors?" he asked. "I was kinda hoping you'd come along."

She stared at him deeply. "Dammit, Dean. D'ya mind, Castiel?"

He shook his head. "My brother won't be happy. Will you make a deal?"

Dean stepped between them. "Won't be necessary. You can't sell your soul a second time, and Lanie's technically my minion, so we don't need a second deal to bind her."

Helena shook his hand. "Pleasure, Dean. Ev'ry body out, I'm going to pack up and burn the place down."

Balthazar opened his mouth, but Castiel would never know whether it was a question, flirtation, or neither, because an incredible sound seeped into the edges of his hearing and both Dean and Helena flung a hand up, tilting their heads to the sky.

The sound was silvery and high, and Castiel could just barely make out an edge of a keening voice beautiful in its unearthly simplicity. It grew louder, and higher, and clearer, and he could barely make out Balthazar wincing and grasping at his ears.

Dean lifted the brighter sword and grasped it tighter. Helena ducked under the counter, snatching the other from where it lay by Dean's cup.

Castiel heard screams, what sounded like brittle, high words and commands and he could barely breathe. The voices grew clearer every moment until light overwhelmed the shop windows and Castiel caught sight, just barely, of an alien white figure, body twisted almost double to accommodate the height of the shop, breaking through the windows and tearing into the room. Spiky fingers and arms and bony, elongated legs that folded up and collapsed.

A tall man stood in the room, suit crisp and pressed. Every inch of him radiated power in a forceful way- not the carefreely intense aura Dean carried like a shield, but a focused and angry sort of power. Dean greeted him with a lax wave. "Uriel, I'm surprised they sent you."

"I'm not," Uriel growled. A silver sword, identical to the one Helena had grabbed before hiding, slipped from his sleeve into his hand.

Dean lunged, parried quickly by Uriel's strokes, hands batted away in smooth movements.

Castiel noted, with a sick lurch, that Dean's hands were flung away every time they came close. His sword didn't so much as graze Uriel's immaculate coat, and it seemed to be all he could do to keep from being stabbed.

Dean stumbled, forcing Uriel backwards. A few more staggering steps and Castiel realised abruptly that Dean's closeness was keeping Uriel from going on the offensive.

Castiel drew his gun, but stayed back. The fight was now too close to intervene; Balthazar swore under his breath as he came to the same conclusion.

Dean curved his spine towards Uriel, twisting and brushing up against his belly and chest, body to body, wrists pressed together in a bizarre parody of an intimate ballet as Dean guided his hands upwards before twisting violently and jamming the sword into Uriel's chest directly under his arm.

Light exploded outward and Castiel saw the strange white being writhe and shatter away from the tall man, burning imprints of its aguiline wings into the hardwood floor, layering them with ash.

Dean stumbled backwards. "That's one more angel blade," he said, picking it up.

Castiel breathed quickly. "I- that was an angel?"

Dean nodded. "Breathe, he's not coming back. Lanie, you good?"

She popped out from under the counter, dropping the silver blade onto the desk. "You ain't lost your edge just yet, Dee."

Balthazar held out a hand and helped Helena from her knees to her feet. "Well, should we leave? Fly with the wind? I assume there are more of the Feather Brigade coming."

Helena nodded, waving them away as she scurried around, placing handfuls of herbs, stones, and a few odd pouches in a messenger bag. She paused before dropping a couple of books in for good measure, and recovered a strongbox and a small laptop.

"Good Omens?" Dean asked, grimacing. "That is the least accurate piece of mouthwash-"

"Aziraphale's in it." She said. "And it's cute. And funny. Oh my god, how they personify Metatron. And- and- can we talk about their Beelzebub? It's fantastic. How can you not like it?"

"It's incredibly inaccurate," Dean said as they clambered into Jimmy's borrowed car.

She whacked him over the head with her book, still bickering. "Willing suspension of disbelief, Dean. And can we laugh about how it's basically fanfiction? My _lord,_ Agnes Nutter. Oh, she was great, don't you think? Gaiman captured her essence particularly well."

"For what it's worth, I liked it." Balthazar offered from the passenger-side seat.

"See? He has good taste. This is what you're missing, Dean. I know you like those stories by Mr Gut or something-"

"Vonnegut!" Dean defended. "And he's wonderful!"

She snorted. "And you're unbelievable. Please, Dean, just try reading something _current._ You like Harry Potter, why don't you try the Hunger Games?"

Dean groaned. "No, no, please. I tried. I'm just not a fan, okay?"

"Give it a chance!" she fired back.

Dean plugged his fingers into his ears and pretended not to listen. Balthazar and Helena chatted aimlessly about literature. Castiel decided that it would be a long, long ride.

Midway through the ride, Helena pronounced it too quiet and stabbed her iPod into the jack, pressing play. Strains of soft female voices, pinned in strict unison, flowed through the car with a soft, slow cadence and an odd branching melody.

It sounded like a mixture of modern and mediaeval, and Castiel was sure that Dean would hate it. But he glanced over and saw Dean tapping his fingers quietly against the window, listening to it. So he focused.

"_-I freeze and yet am always burned, since from myself again I turn, I love and yet am forced to hate, I seem stark mute; inside I prate-"_

He found himself following the sombre tones and harmony raptly.

"Mediaeval Baebes?" Balthazar asked at length.

"I'm surprised that you know them." Helena said.

"I'm a sucker for history shows, and The Virgin Queen was fantastic." Balthazar admitted.

"A guy played them for me once, while I was inhabiting his friend." Helena said. "He really loved English history, and his mom played them all the time so he got a lot of exposure."

The music rose and faded. Dean hummed along to the melody absently before reaching out and tapping hard on the screen.

Abruptly, the song switched to a drumming, tense choral beat.

"Do you only have choral music?" he asked with a groan. "Nothing else?"

"Bit of Black Sabbath, Kelly Clarkson, Muse, and all of Evanescence." Helena said.

Dean listened as the song broke into a fierce, dramatic minor key. "Mmph. Tell me when you get better taste."

"You know you love it. Come on, _laudate dominum, in sanctis eius, Laudate eum in firmament virtu-_"

"Absolutely not."

* * *

Castiel couldn't say he was disappointed when he stopped the car and climbed into Bobby's house. Helena and Dean were the most peculiar of friends, but he could tell that Dean trusted her and people they trusted were in short supply.

Jimmy and Bobby were deliberating over the kitchen table when they entered, and Sam wasted no time reading from the laptop he carried. He had adapted surprisingly quickly to modern technology. "So get this. Sedona, miracles have been happening. People are disappearing and reappearing, saying that they felt absolute agony and had a religious experience, healings from terminal illness, people falling from cliffs or buildings and being all right."

"Case?" Jimmy asked, taking Claire's empty glass and plate away from her.

"Definitely." Balthazar said. "Cassie, you up for it?"

Castiel glanced at Dean and Helena, struck by the sudden realisation that Helena was a small, slight woman with thin red hair and a small frame dwarfed by her huge coat. "I, ah-"

"Great, let's go." Dean said. "Lanie?"

"First time hunting with _hunters,_" she exulted. "No, not missing this!"

Jimmy's brow furrowed. "Another one?"

Dean slung an arm over her shoulder. "Jim-Jims, she's a_wesome._ You'll get it soon enough. She can definitely help."

"That far from the issue I have with this. It's unbelievable. And call me by my _name._"

Castiel rushed to prevent a confrontation. "Ah, transportation will be an issue."

"Don't look at me, I can't poof in and out without drawing attention." Sam answered immediately.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Samsquatch, is there a way we can get a new car?"

Dean's eyes grew huge. "Oh- oh my god, I have a car stored in a garage not far from here, she's the best, we can use her. Definitely. I'm driving."

Castiel and Helena shrugged and volunteered to ride with him.

"One thing." Dean said, holding up his hand. "We go to Tucson first."

The room erupted into complaints. Sam and Helena remained quiet until it died down, eyes hooded. Castiel caught himself wondering what was going through their heads.

"Drop me off in Flagstaff, if so." Helena said.

Sam shrugged. "I'm sticking with Dean."

Castiel stared hard at them. "What's in Tucson? Your car?"

"No," Dean said, fidgeting. "Something's weird in Tucson."

Castiel gestured impatiently for him to elaborate.

Dean refused immediately, Helena refused to explain herself, and Sam said nothing, even when Gabriel begged.

They settled on Sedona first, then Tucson, but Castiel continued to pester Dean for a straight answer.

He only stopped when Dean settled his hands heavily over the burns on Castiel's arms where Dean had purified him, looked Castiel straight in the eye, and said, "It's better you don't know, Cas. Please. Let me handle it until we get there. Please."

Castiel caved.

They had never seen Dean happier than when he was driving the car, singing along loudly to the music pounding out of the speakers. Sam napped in the backseat, Helena played Angry Birds on her phone, and Castiel simply rode shotgun, watching the world go by outside the window.

"Dean?" Castiel asked hesitantly, after maybe an hour of (not) quiet driving and peaceful boredom.

"Cas." He replied blandly, dialling the music down.

Castiel fidgeted. "I wanted to ask. When was the last time you were, ah, topside?"

Dean reached out and patted the car. "1969. Got my baby then. She's sweet, huh?"

Castiel stared at him, and eventually Dean elaborated.

"Called myself Dean Winchester, hopped around. Corrupted a couple of virtuous people. Settled down for a while with a lady named Lisa."

Castiel watched him, fascinated. This wasn't his natural habitat, far from it, but Dean seemed incredibly at ease and relaxed in these surroundings.

"I-" he cut off, frowning, when Balthazar took a sharp turn and shot onto a dirt road.

"Follow." Castiel commanded, and Dean did.

They bumped down the road for a long time, Dean grinding his teeth with every click of gravel or dust against the windshield and body of the car.

Helena yanked the cord out of her iPod. "What's up?"

"Not much. Zar took a detour."

"You didn't honestly think we'd take Claire with us on a hunt, did you?" Castiel asked as they pulled up in front of a two-story house with cracked white paint on the porch.

Dean got out, waiting for Castiel. "No, honestly, but you surprised me. No planning and all."

The door creaked open, Balthazar already inside with Claire and Jimmy.

A tall, dark-skinned man interrupted them. "Castiel, who are your friends? I don't recognise them from the hunter collectives."

Dean waved a flippant arm. "'m Dean."

Helena curtsied.

Sam looked embarrassed and tried to hide behind Dean.

Castiel gave him a strained smile. "I- Rafael, these are Dean, Helena, and Sam. Er, they're friends."

Sam waved shyly. "It's an honour to meet you, sir."

Rafael snorted. "Come on back to meet the old man."

Closer to the back, they heard the sound of frantic typing and Balthazar talking.

A thin, bearded man greeted them, not looking up from his computer. "Dean, I need to talk to you."

Dean was taken aback, but sat across from the bearded man, ignoring Balthazar's puzzled glance.

Castiel shot him a worry-filled look before ushering everyone out.

The man tossed back a mouthful of whisky. "I'm Chuck Shurley. Gabriel, Balthazar, Rafa, and Castiel's adoptive dad." He eyed Dean up and down. "Hello, Dean."

Dean nodded, hesitating. "You're a prophet," he began.

"Yep." He slammed the glass down on the wooden cupholder. "My books will one day be read as gospels, yadda yadda. Really? I just want what anyone wants; a good life, money, peacefulness, relaxation."

Dean nodded, watching him. "You know about Sammy, then."

"Samael?" Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I do. But I won't tell."

Dean nearly collapsed. "Thank you- oh, thank you-"

"Don't-" Chuck enunciated. "Thank me. Dean, take control of your destiny. You damned beings have free will for a reason, and you don't need to go by the book every time."

Dean nodded, still nearly tearful with relief, barely conscious of Rafael and Castiel talking outside of the room.

"But Tucson."

Dean nodded.

"Take care of Castiel." Chuck said. "Be careful, Dean, I mean, please be careful. Don't let him _near_ that thing. Or vice versa. Remember. Or I will _rain_ Armageddon down on your head."

Somehow, Dean didn't doubt that from the slight, untidy man, and simply nodded. "I swear."

Chuck relaxed. "I'll take care of Claire. Dean, remember; Tucson is important. Incredibly so. Be ready for anything, even if it is something more important than you could ever have imagined."

Dean nodded, and his voice quavered. "Does Sedona have to do with…"

"Indirectly." Chuck drained his glass. "Be ready for anything. I'll be waiting right here. See you when you come back."

"But sir-"

"Goodbye."

Dean recognised a dismissal when we heard one and quickly left, heading back to the car over the questions of Helena and Sam.

_Be ready for anything._

Shit.


End file.
